


feel it, don't you fight it

by anteaterchampagne



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Oral Fixation, brad thinks he’s subtle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:59:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27551152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anteaterchampagne/pseuds/anteaterchampagne
Summary: the appropriate actions that must be taken when your rto has been burned in his tent by an exploding portable stove
Relationships: Brad Colbert/Ray Person
Comments: 8
Kudos: 64





	feel it, don't you fight it

**Author's Note:**

> title is from the o'my's "cough drop"

Ray awoke to a hushed voice in his ear, dragging him out of sleep from where his face was smushed against his pillow. One eye opened, and he saw Brad, kneeling beside him. It was late, had to be with how quiet it finally was, and well past Brad’s usual bedtime, especially when he wasn’t pulling watch duty. The tent was silent save for the snoring of the other men, and the quiet, discordant background noise of the radio they left on at night. Mostly because they were all really fucking babies and needed the white noise to get any meaningful rest.

“The fuck, homes?” He pushed himself up onto his elbow, going to scrub his eyes. He’d already forgotten about the burn on the left half of his face. “Fuck,”

“Don’t touch it, you fucking troglodyte,” Brad hissed, grabbing his wrist to pull it down and away. Ray glared at him, still blinking more than was strictly necessary as his vision adjusted to the dim light. “I got this for it.” Brad held up a tube of Neosporin, shaking it for emphasis.

“And I bet you didn’t even have to blow anybody for it,” Ray chided, grinning as he sat up.

“Bryan will get me back in other ways, I’m sure. Hold still.” Brad unscrewed the cap, and squeezed a glob of Neosporin onto his finger. He laid the tube on the cot beside Ray, in the empty space his legs had occupied moments before, and reached up to cup the back of Ray’s head with his free hand.

“What, and you’re just gonna smear it on with your dirty, disgusting paws? Homes, I’ll take my chance of infection from the boiling water, thanks,” Ray tried to jerk his head, but Brad’s grip held firm.

“Shut the fuck up,” Brad said, voice hushed again. He’d been whispering since he’d woken him up, a stark contrast to the typical tone Ray employed, and was employing now. “I washed my hands. Probably cleaner than your face was, anyway.”

“Well, it only burnt half of it; you could always lick the other side to find out exactly how dirty it was. Or is,” said Ray, but he stilled. His eyes finally focused in the dark and he fixed his gaze on Brad’s face, the minute but obvious expression of concentration there. He definitely didn’t wince when Brad smeared the ointment around his eye, onto his forehead and down his cheek. “It’s not all the fuckin’ way down there, dude, come on,” he protested, feeling Brad’s finger nearing the edge of his mouth.

“It is,” Brad said, frowning as he lowered his ointment covered hand to wipe it on his pants. He still held Ray’s neck in his other, looking intently at his face. “You got fucking lucky, Ray.”

“What are you talking about,” he was dismissive, lips pulling into a frown as he clicked his tongue.

“That shit could have blinded you. It could have been much worse.” He said it in his usual, matter-of-fact tone, but his eyes had softened so that Ray could see the concern behind them. Recognizing this, Ray huffed, feeling a little flustered as he jerked his head away from Brad’s grip. Brad let him go now, glancing around to make sure no one had stirred awake before putting his hand on Ray’s knee.

“It didn’t, and it wasn’t. Stop being such a pussy,” he said, but there was only fondness in his voice. His hand had moved to cover Brad’s, fingers resting lightly against the back of his wrist, poking at his watch and stroking the skin below it. Brad squeezed his knee before rising to his feet. There was a beat of silence as Brad crammed the tube of Neosporin into his pocket, looking around the tent with a furrow in his brow, once again making sure no one had witnessed this interaction. When he was convinced, he looked back to Ray, who was staring up at him.

Brad leaned down, palm wrapped around Ray’s shoulder, and said into his ear, “I’m going to the latrines. Wait five minutes.” Ray’s breath caught in his throat, going still as he leaned into Brad’s touch. He could feel Brad smile against his cheek before stranding upright, kicking lightly at his foot as he walked away.

Seven minutes later, Ray was standing in front of the row of porta-potties on the far edge of Mathilda. His boots were still unlaced, and he'd been wiping at the shit Brad had slathered on him ever since he'd turned his back on him. It would have ended up on his pillow anyway, right? He was thinking of that, and what Brad had to have said to get Doc to surrender his antibiotic ointment, anything to distract him from the fact that _Brad_ , in all of his anal retentiveness and hyper paranoia had invited him to a fucking porta-potty for a late night rendezvous. The few times Ray had made any kind of physical contact with him since they’d landed in the AO, casual or with intent, he'd ended up getting the coldest of all shoulders for the remainder of the day.

But he recognized the look in Brad's eyes earlier, when he'd walked in to see him holding a towel over the burns on his face. He'd seen it once before, months prior when he'd asked Ray to come over to rewire his dining room light. Ray was certain Brad could do it himself, but needed a reason to invite Ray over - couldn't just ask him to hang out like a normal person. Ray fucked up, though, and was too focused on Brad's hand on his ass holding him steady as he stood on the ladder, and he'd touched the exposed wires. It would have sent him across the room, but Brad caught him, laid him out in the floor with that same reserved, apprehensive look on his face until he came back to his senses. When he could speak again, he'd berated him for flipping _the wrong fucking breaker, Jesus shit spitting Christ, Brad,_ and Brad had made it up to him with a blow job and a pizza. He'd even allowed him to get pineapple on half, so Ray knew he must have really felt guilty. By now, though, all things considered, Ray figured Brad would have tamped down any remotely overt concern for him. Apparently not.

All the doors were hanging open but one, towards the end of the line, but of course not the last. He approached and wrapped his knuckles once on the plastic. The lock disengaged immediately, and Ray pulled the door open to reveal Brad, leaned against the wall with his arms folded. “You’re late.”

“By like a minute, homes, chill the fuck out,” Ray mumbled, stepping in front of Brad and pulling the door shut. Brad reached over to twist the lock, crowding into Ray’s space as he did so.

“You know, your face was about the only thing you had going for you,” Brad said, voice just above a whisper. Ray snorted and shoved at his chest, but his hand only got pinned between them as Brad leaned in closer. “I guess you’re still pretty from this side.” His teeth closed around Ray’s earlobe, and Ray let out a gasp, his hand twisting in Brad’s shirt.

“You’re- ah, you’re an asshole,” Ray said, pushing at him until he pulled away from where he’d been mouthing at his neck.

“You like it,” Brad said, cupping his cheek before ducking down to kiss him. As Ray licked into his mouth, halfway to his tiptoes, Brad pulled away again, abruptly enough that he had to catch Ray as he stumbled forward. “Seriously, Ray, I - I’m glad you’re okay.”

Ray grinned, the toothy, crooked grin that always made Brad want to wipe it off his face, and said, “Sounds like you got it bad for Ray Ray.”

Brad let out an annoyed sigh, rolling his eyes as he said, “I’ve got it bad for not going into a war zone with faulty comms and a potentially incompetent and ineffective RTO.”

“Hey, back the fuck up, I take offense to that. Even with half a face my _skills_ are intact,”

“But if we’d had to replace you? There’s no telling what kind of retarded, blundering asshole I’d have ended up with,” Brad’s hand strayed to Ray’s waist, untucking his shirt and pressing his palm over the warm skin of his belly.

“There is no replacing me, Bradley,” Ray said in a singsong tone. He fumbled for Brad’s belt, struggling to get it undone in the tight space.

Brad’s fingers dipped below Ray’s waistband, the belt too loose and the pants too big, and his other hand caught Ray’s chin, pulling his face up. “Yeah,” he agreed, kissing him again as he palmed over the front of his boxers. Ray stilled, his hands frozen where they’d finally managed to get Brad’s belt undone, his eyes shut and mouth open as Brad’s hand cupped his dick. Brad had learned this was the quickest way to slow Ray down, to silence him for at least a moment - albeit not the easiest since they'd been deployed. After a moment he withdrew his hand, and Ray let out the breath he’d been holding before popping the button on Brad’s pants. He worked faster than Brad did, when he was moving, shoving his pants and briefs down below his ass before Brad could even get Ray’s zipper down. Ray was dropping to his knees even as Brad tried to push his pants down. “Ray, let me-” 

“Shut the fuck up - like your freak legs would even fit down here,” Ray’s tone was insistent, needy. He curled his hand around Brad’s dick and pulled him into his mouth, eagerly swallowing him down. Brad shuddered at the sudden sensation, his hands moving to rest on Ray’s shoulder and the top of his head.

“Fuck,” Brad breathed, resisting the urge to push on the back of Ray’s head but ultimately thrusting his hips forward. Ray gagged, out of practice now, and pulled back for a breath, trailing a rope of spit back with him. He dropped his hands to undo his pants, giving himself space to wrap his hand around his own cock before turning his attention back to Brad. Brad returned his hand to Ray’s head, sliding his palm to cup his jaw and stroke over his cheek.

Ray looked up at him, the dampness on his eyelashes visible even in the dim light, and just that eye contact, with Ray’s throat working around him, was enough to drive him over the edge, his fingers tapping Ray’s shoulder in warning. Ray didn’t pull away, though, just tightened his grip on Brad’s hip as Brad came. Ray swallowed as best he could, but saliva and come dribbled down his chin as he finally sat back on his heels, his hand working over his cock, his eyes still fixed on Brad’s face.

Brad wiped his thumb through the mess on Ray’s chin before pushing the digit past his lips. Ray moaned around it, sucking lightly before biting down, his chest hitching as he came into his palm a few strokes later. He slouched forward, into Brad's hand, still sucking at his thumb while he forced breaths through his nose. His forehead pressed into Brad's hip, the burn on his face turned upwards. Brad watched him, how his eyes fluttered and how his swollen lips and the ointment on his face shined, cataloging the image for later before sucking in a breath himself and withdrawing his thumb. “Come up here,” Brad said, voice low as he pushed gently at Ray's shoulder. Ray made an agitated sound, his shoulders slouching as he just looked up at Brad, cheeks flushed. Brad pulled his pants back up and leaned down to grab Ray's upper arm, pulling him to his feet. Ray staggered, his knees still weak and his legs now numb. He gulped a breath, blinking deliberately before propping his arm on Brad's shoulder, his forehead going to rest in the center of his chest.

Brad put a hand on his waist, ripping open a wet nap he’d produced from one of his pockets with his teeth. “Here,” Ray’s brows furrowed as he raised his head, and he barked a laugh when he realized what Brad was doing. Brad pushed at him, crowding him against the wall again and moving to stifle his laugh in another kiss. "Shut up."

“You’re a fucking enigma, Colbert,” Ray said, still a little breathless as he held his palm out flat for Brad to clean. Brad smiled, dropping the wet nap into the toilet and cupping Ray’s jaw again, holding him steady as he kissed him. Ray was loose limbed now, leaning heavily against the wall, his hand twisted in the material of Brad’s shirt with his other hand thrown over his shoulder.

After a moment, after Brad had licked the backs of his teeth clean, he pulled away, tilting his forehead against Ray’s, breathing heavily. “That - don’t scare me like that again.”

A huff of laughter escaped Ray, and he leaned forward to kiss Brad again. “Are you kidding? You've barely looked at me since we got here, homes. I’m about to go set the other side of my face on fire if it means _latrine_ time with you." He punctuated it with a wink.

Brad snorted, shaking his head and pushed his chin up with his thumb to tilt his head back. “Don’t.” He kissed him quick, and pushed him to the other side of the stall. He reached for the lock, but Ray grabbed his hand. "What?"

"You got," Ray paused, looking a little sheepish. "You got fuckin' Neosporin on your face." He rubbed the heel of his palm across Brad's cheek and looked down to his feet, fingers gripping his pants where he'd gone to wipe them clean.

The silence that followed made him look up to see Brad smiling at him, looking more fond than Ray had seen him in a while, but he blinked and it was gone, that trained expression back in an instant. “Wait a few minutes, then go get some sleep, Corporal.”

“Yes, sir.”

**Author's Note:**

> mmmmmm so this is the culmination of ten years of writing and never publishing fic so let me know what you think and maybe i'll post more who knows!!!


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